Down One Last Time
by Paper-Whore
Summary: Christine returns to the Opera House to carry out Erik's last wishes. While there, she remembers the fortnight she spent with him.


Author's note: This story assumes that you have read Gaston Leroux's _The Phantom of the Opera._ If you have not, I strongly recommend that you read the original.

Thanks once again to my Beta for making me explain.

For Fay, who introduced me to the Phantom

* * *

**Down One Last Time **

**_Two_** days ago Christine, Comtesse de Chagny read the simple advertisement the Persian had placed in the newspaper_. _Now she stepped out of the carriage and made her way down to the cellars of the Paris Opera House. Since reading the brief obituary notice consisting only of _Erik is dead_, her life seemed to lack its music qualities.

Her Angel of Music was dead. The man who inspired her voice and strived to ensure her career as an opera-singer progressed was gone. Raoul had wanted to accompany her on the journey to Paris, but Christine had refused. She did not want anyone there when she said her own goodbye.

Now, as she neared the fountain where the Opera ghost was said to be, she began to wish she had the support of her husband. She could see Erik. His body was by the fountain where he had so tenderly bathed her temples when she had fainted the first time he had brought her down to his house. Her breath failed her as she drew closer and she collapsed at his side.

His masterpiece _Don Juan Triumphant_ was cradled protectively in his arms. She now realised that she had meant it when she said that he should take his time finishing his opera. He had nothing to live for now that his score was complete. He spent the remaining weeks as he had spent most of his life; alone. His only companion was his music.

The realisation caused Christine to weep silently for her tutor. He was not so bad. He had tortured Raoul and the Persian right before her eyes. He was willing to kill for her. He had abducted her on two occasions. But he had done all that he did because he loved her. He let her go because he loved her.

He had no reason to free her, but he had. She had followed Erik's instructions and allowed the bronze sculptures speak for her. She decided to turn the scorpion rather than the grasshopper. She chose to sacrifice her happiness for the lives of all those above innocently enjoying an opera. She knew what awaited her: a life of darkness. A life full of death and her deceiving Angel of Music were all that awaited her.

She never imagined she would allow him to kiss her. Nor had she imagined that the simple kiss she had allowed him to place on her forehead or the tears that fell and mixed with his would lead to her freedom. The only reason for allowing such an action was the trust and affection, which had grown during their singing lessons and in particular her time under the Opera House.

* * *

_**Christine**_ pushed the food around on her plate. She had been down by the lake for four days, and still she was not used to staring into Erik's dark eye sockets. Every time she looked at him, she trembled. But always she assured him that she was just in awe of his genius.

Rising from the table, Erik offered his hand to her and tentatively, very tentatively, she placed her hand on his and allowed him to escort her to the sofa, noticing for the first time the delicate scent of the flowers which filled the room. With a nod, he turned and sat himself down at the piano and began to play, and even sang when Christine implored him.

As the musical progressed, his beautiful, haunting voice beckoned her to him. In a trance, she rose from the sofa and made her way to his side. Standing to his right, Christine joined him as he turned to a duet. In harmony, their voices rose and filled the drawing room with the lilting song.

Reaching over his shoulder to turn the page, their hands touched and after allowing himself a brief caress, Erik pulled his hand away. Christine bit her lip at the feeling of his flesh, which did not feel quite as cold as usual.

As the morning dawned, Erik turned to Christine for the first time in hours to see her patting back a yawn. With what she thought was a smile, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the Louis-Philippe room, and depositing her gently on the bed.

With heavy eyes, she allowed him to remove her shoes and pull up the coverlet. Despite her fatigue, she recognised the look of adoration in his eyes.

As he rose from the edge of the bed, Christine grabbed his hand to prevent him from leaving.

"Stay with me," she pleaded.

The possibility that he could misinterpret her request unnerved her. She was quick to berate herself, however. Despite his erratic nature, Erik was a gentleman. He would never force his attentions upon any woman.

Settling back down on the bed, Erik began a lullaby. With a sigh, Christine turned on her side and shifted closer to him before falling asleep.

* * *

Christine returned from her day walking along the lake to hear Erik at his organ play a haunting song that she assumed was from _Don Juan Triumphant_. Collecting her book from a side table, Christine sat outside his room to listen to his song.

For days Christine staying in his house on the lake, not disturbing Erik as he played. However, on the sixth day without food or sleep, Christine cautiously ventured into his bedroom bearing a glass of Tokay and a plate of food.

When he paused to write down a phrase of music, she took the opportunity to beg him to eat and rest. But when she received no response, she turned to leave. It was then that she noticed for the first time several framed portraits and sketches hanging on the wall. Pausing for a moment, she gasped when she realised they were all of her.

Glancing back at Erik, she sighed in relief when he did not look up from his music. With a confused frown, she retired to her room.

The doorknob to the Louis-Philippe room turned some time later as Christine lay in bed reading. It was not until he sat on her bed that she noticed the strain etched on his face.

"You've done so much work on _Don Juan _over the last few days," she began tentatively.

"Soon it will be finished."

"And then what?" she asked as she clutched his hand, afraid to hear his response.

"Death," he answered simply.

His calm acceptance of his fate sent a chill through Christine's body.

"Sing to me, Erik."

"What would you like to hear?" he asked as he placed her book on the bedside table and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Anything," she murmured as she turned her head to his hand and closed her eyes.

* * *

The following day Christine awoke to find herself alone in the house on the lake. Assuming that Erik had left for the market and would be quite some time, she pulled on her robe and silently made her way to his room.

She stared at the portraits by the door. They were incredible. They were works of art, which should have been in the Louvre instead of a dank, underground house. Careful to leave everything undisturbed, she searched the room looking for more of his work.

In the bottom drawer of Erik's desk, she found what she had been searching for; a leather bound sketchbook filled with drawings of her. Sinking down into the chair, she perused the book. There were studies of her, which were clearly done during rehearsals while she sat, waiting for her cues. There were drawings in a range of wedding gowns. There was an incomplete portrait of her asleep in the Louis-Philippe room.

"Christine!"

Starting guiltily, she spun around to see Erik glaring down at her from his position in the doorway. She shuddered as his fury pronounced his deformity.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"I was looking at your work."

"You shouldn't have been going through my drawers!" He paused for a moment. "Did you plan to laugh at me? Is that why you searched my room? Did you plan to laugh at a poor man who is so in love with you that until now, the only way he could see your face was to draw it?

"Well, you have seen them. You have seen the drawings of a pitiful creature. Laugh, Christine, laugh! Laugh just as you cried 'horror' when first you saw my face! You have cried out at my monstrous face, now laugh at my pathetic attempts at beauty!"

He seized the book out of her hands. Opening it at a random page, which depicted him holding her in his arms, her head resting almost lovingly on his shoulder, he pulled it from the book.

"No, Erik! Don't!" she cried, realising his intention. "Don't rip it!"

The artwork fluttered to the floor as he fell to his knees and wept.

"It _is_ beautiful," Christine reassured him from where she sat uneasily at his desk.

"I would have shown you if you had but asked, Christine," he wept as he cradled the book protectively against his chest.

* * *

Christine and Erik had returned to the house on the lake after their journey to the Bois on the fateful evening when Raoul had spied them. Erik was in a fury. Consumed by jealousy, he rounded on Christine.

"It isn't enough! I have given you my music, my home, my love. I have given you everything you have ever asked for! Still it isn't enough! What more can I give you, Christine?" he demanded, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a violent shake. "A title? Is that it? Is that what draws you to your Viscount? Oh, how you have betrayed me, Christine!"

"He is leaving soon!" she cried. "He is travelling to the North Pole. Soon there will be nothing to worry about."

Some of the jealousy faded from his dark eyes.

"If you had believed me to be handsome and left my mask untouched, all would be well. You can never leave me, Christine; you can never leave me. You are mine. You always will be," he whispered as he dropped to the floor to kiss the hem of her dress.

"Yes, Erik," she lied as she tears began to blind her vision.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed as he rose from the ground to wipe the tears from her face. The touch of his cold hand on her cheek caused her to shudder. "Do I still repulse you?" he asked, catching her eye.

"No, Erik," she whispered. "You do not repulse me. Your genius and astonishing kindness never cease to amaze me."

He seemed content with another of her lies. When he turned to the piano to play a scale, Christine joined him.

"Please Erik, may I return to see him before he leaves?" she asked softly tracing a finger down a scar that her nail had left on his cheek.

Tears stung her eyes when she recalled his reaction when she removed his mask. He responded wrathfully by grasping her hands and forcing her to claw at his face. The mad actions were carried out to prove to her that there was not another mask

"You will return?" he asked in a quiet, uncertain voice.

"Yes. I WILL COME BACK!" she assured him with a sincere expression.

"Go now then."

Christine took a step to the door, but paused.

"Before I go, say you love me, Erik." She hoped that her request would erase any doubt in his mind that she would not return to him.

"I love you, Christine. I love you, my angel."

Gathering her skirts, Christine smiled at him and stepped out of the room.

* * *

**_Christine _**had loved him. The love she felt for Erik was not founded on pity or fear. It was not the kind of love that could be confessed. The love that Christine and Erik felt for one another was love of the most magnificent kind.

Brushing the tears away from her face with a handkerchief, Christine pulled the plain gold band off her finger and placed it on Erik's finger. She caressed his cheek, placed a kiss on his forehead before rising, brushing off her skirts and slowly leaving the place, which held so many memories.


End file.
